


This Will Be My Monument

by sister_dear



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I love that those are all tags, Language, Legend (Linked Universe) Has Feelings, Legend (Linked Universe) Has Issues, Legend (Linked Universe) Swears, Legend (Linked Universe)-centric, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Lots of Legend having issues in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29903274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_dear/pseuds/sister_dear
Summary: It's the quiet moments that Legend hates the most.(Legend has issues. Fortunately for him, he now has people around who can help.)
Relationships: Hyrule & Legend (Linked Universe), Legend & Twilight (Linked Universe), Legend & Warriors (Linked Universe)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 118





	This Will Be My Monument

Legend and Warriors took a great deal of joy in picking at each other. From the moment they met they’ve been at each other’s throats with insults and bets and all manner of snide back-handed compliments. That doesn’t stop Legend from tossing his fire rod to Warriors without a moment of hesitation. There are a few too many lizalfos hemming Warriors in for Legend’s liking, and his own battle is moving too fast for him to break away. Missing one weapon from his vast arsenal won’t make much difference.

Heat blooms at Legend’s back, but he doesn’t have time to stop and look to see how Warriors does with his new toy. Lizalfos are speedy bastards. Legend ducks under a swipe that would have removed his head from his shoulders, comes up behind the thing while it’s still trying to spot where he went. One swift thrust ends it.

The next one doesn’t go down so easy. 

Legend’s first hit scores a shallow slice to the shoulder above the monster’s shield. Black blood trails down the edge of his blade. The minor cut doesn’t slow it at all. It leers at him, long tongue swiping the air. Legend refuses to be intimidated by one measly lizalfos. It trumps him in size, is a near match in speed, protected by hide much thicker than Legend’s own skin. Legend holds the advantage of being immeasurably stubborn. He bares his teeth right back, then freezes the bastard’s feet to the ground. He dances away from another swipe of that disgusting tongue. The ice holding the monster in place cracks, an ominous snap of sound ringing out like a lightning strike. Legend charges his blade with magic. 

The ice breaks entirely as Legend releases his spell in a scything arc of light and steel. 

Legend recovers from the move with one foot braced behind the other. The monster’s head hits the ground several feet away, and there are two more of the brutes right on top of him. He feels the pain of a hit to his side, but Legend doesn’t stop.

Legend never stops.

When the battle is won, Warriors is the first to reach him. He’s prone on the ground, ankle pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Pressure from the swollen joint presses against the inside of his boot. A dozen minor bruises add to the background throbbing, barely discernible against everything else. He presses the balled-up hem of his red tunic against the wound in his side, wondering where the damn bag with all of his fucking potions has got to. It certainly isn’t attached to his belt. 

Warriors’ concerned face appears above him. 

“Legend. You’re never getting your fire rod back.” It’s said conversationally, as if Legend can’t see the way his brows draw down over serious eyes. Hands cover Legend’s. Warriors eases Legend’s hands and tunic both away from his side so he can see the extent of the injury. He looks only a moment before pressing the cloth back into place. His skin is warm against Legend’s cold fingers and their many rings. As warm as the blood that pulses from his side. “No dying, Legend.” The words are light, meant to bring humor to a bad situation. 

Legend wheezes out a bitter mockery of a laugh. “Nothing’s managed to do the job yet.”

△△△

Legend’s come close to actual death often enough that near brushes hardly leave a ripple. The terror of those times he looked up to find death only inches away lingers in his memories like jagged shards, offering up their unwanted emotions whenever Legend cares to prod in their direction. The deep seated regret and the knee-jerk stubborn refusal. Fury and grief in equal measure. 

Legend knows he wants to live. 

That doesn’t stop the dark thoughts from forming at any given opportunity. It doesn’t stop his mind from chewing itself to pieces and spitting him out at the end, more bitter and ornery than ever. Intrusive thoughts of self-flagellation, self-destruction, _“you’d be better off dead.”_ They’re the background radiation of his life, predictable as the sunrise. Always there, waiting for the moments in between, when his mind has space to be quiet. When he’s tired. Having a pain flare. Missing certain people. 

Distractions helped, before. Keeping Ravio from taking over his house. Adventure. Picking fights he probably shouldn’t. 

Then he met some people. Eight of them, in fact. They surround him now, tending and being tended to in the aftermath of the battle. 

Legend stares up at a grey sky past a canopy of pine boughs. The voices of his companions surround him in a blurred mess of conversation, unimportant and unintelligible. Hyrule made it quite clear that his only job right now is to remain in his bedroll and recover. 

Already his thoughts are closing in. Legend breathes the smell of tree sap and blood and potions, listens as Hyrule’s voice drifts away. When it pauses on the other side of camp he pushes himself upright. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Fuck off, pretty boy.”

Warriors kneels beside him. The jerk looks fine. Barely singed. A hand presses between Legend’s shoulder blades. Legend’s spine goes rigid. His mostly-healed side gives a little warning twinge. Instead of easing him back down, Warriors offers his other hand as if to help Legend steady himself. Legend swats it away. “I don’t need your help.”

Warriors smirks at him. “If you don’t want to be fussed over, don’t let yourself get injured.”

“That’s rich, since it was my weapon that saved your ass.” Legend leans forward slowly, away from Warriors’ hand on his back, gathering his legs with care. Warriors doesn’t try to touch him again, but he hovers. That’s just as bad. Legend can feel his eyes drilling holes as he staggers to his feet. Warriors rises with him. 

No one has started a fire, all of them too busy patching each other up or being mothered to death. Legend steps out of his bedroll, trips over it only a little. He pretends he doesn’t see the aborted movement Warriors makes as he catches himself with a hiss. 

Hyrule stares daggers at him but he has his hands full with corralling Twilight. His eyes flit to Warriors and away again when Warriors gives a little flick of his fingers. Legend decides he doesn’t see any of it. He refuses to acknowledge those two becoming friends. Such a partnership can only spell doom for Legend. It’s less easy to ignore that Warriors dogs his steps as he picks his way through the campsite. 

“What part of fuck off was confusing to you?”

“I don’t think you meant it. Who wouldn’t want to be graced with the presence of these good looks?”

Their bickering continues all through setting up a campfire and well on into the evening. 

△△△

The longer he travels with these people, the less often the bad moments come. It’s easy to avoid quiet in a group this size. When they aren’t fighting monsters, there’s always someone willing to start some shit. Even the quiet moments become quieter. The good days more numerous. 

It makes the bad days stand out all the more. 

Today is a bad day. Or yesterday was. Whatever. A long morning spent arguing over their path as he scouted with Wild, then finding out about Wolfie, then being turned into a goddess-damned rabbit and getting manhandled by Sky of all people. Dodging questions about his hair distracted him through the evening, but eventually the group settled in for the night. 

It comes as no surprise when he wakes to see the stars still shining brightly in the sky. 

Sky and Twilight both _know._ Now that he’s not dodging the relentless teasing, the reality of that settles in. Humiliation burns at him. What kind of idiot just picks up something so obviously cursed? He knows better. Sky probably won’t do anything actively malicious with the knowledge, but how well can he lie? Legend isn’t sure. And Twilight. Twilight isn’t nearly as much of a pushover as Sky. He _is_ the type to take advantage of blackmail material, if he thinks it’s justified. Is what Legend has on him enough to balance that? Legend could have avoided this all if he’d just stopped to think before picking up that damn totem. 

No matter how Legend tosses and turns, sleep won’t come. He rolls out of his blankets, ignoring the way his fingers creak and his knees pop, and adds a log to the banked fire. The pitiful light isn’t enough for weapon maintenance or mending clothes or any other busywork. Left with nothing to do, he simply sits and stares. Exhaustion pulls at his eyelids. Every time he closes them his mind spins back up. So he just sits there, listening dully to the crackle and pop of flame creeping into the core of the log. 

A rustling sound sends him jolting upright. 

Eyes blink at him from the shadowed space between two trees. Firelight catches Wolfie’s distinct light-on-dark markings. 

No. Not Wolfie. Twilight. 

“Come to gloat?” Legend mutters the words into the fire, but he has no doubt Wolfie can hear them. 

Shadows coalesce. Wolfie’s form blurs and shifts. Twilight steps out from among the trees. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Legend scoffs. He doesn’t stop Twilight from joining him by the fire. 

“I’m not planning on telling anyone.”

“Sure you’re not.”

Twilight grunts at him. He tosses a twig into the fire. They both watch it catch and light, curling in the heat and then falling to ash. The quality of the silence shifts. Legend looks up. Twilight is smirking at him. 

“The pink really does clash with that red tunic of yours. If you want some color tips, I’m sure Warriors would be happy to oblige.” 

“Shut your country boy mouth.” Legend socks Twilight in the arm. Twilight pulls him into a headlock, mussing his hair and knocking his hat askew. Legend muffles a squawk - he does not need any of the others waking to see this - and fights himself free. Twilight lets him go with hands raised in mock surrender and a gleam in his eye. 

Someone grunts from the direction of the bedrolls. They both freeze like children caught stealing sweets. A moment of rustling as someone turns over, then the camp goes quiet again. 

By unspoken mutual agreement, Legend and Twilight cease their poking. They settle in to watch the fire in silence. The atmosphere is different now. Somehow having Twilight there, relaxed and companionable, helps calm the part of Legend’s mind that woke him with its furious anxiety. When his eyelids start to droop again, his thoughts stay blessedly quiet.

Legend wakes to snickering and the chilled stiffness that means he fell asleep without blankets. The former is of far more concern than the latter. He cracks his eyes open. Wild and Wind have slate and pictograph both aimed in his direction. Something warm, furry, and breathing curls against his back. 

Legend’s outraged threats over the resulting pictures are only partially genuine. 

△△△

Once he notices it with Twilight, it becomes more obvious with the rest of them, too. Somehow, just being close to these idiots is enough to quiet the internal nagging. Of course, he can’t just outright ask. But if he gets huffy, Warriors will come up to ruffle his hair. If he sits beside someone at the fire, they don’t move away. It’s hard to put into words how that makes him feel.

It’s a quiet afternoon on the edge of Wild’s Hyrule. There’s nothing particularly special about this particular bit of coastline. Just a lot of rocks, the remains of the monster encampment they took care of, and the constant ebb and flow of waves rushing up on the shore. The sound grates on Legend’s ears. The rushing, bubbling laughter of water whispers cruel words. Legend wants to dig his teeth into something. Anything. He wears himself out sparring until Sky begs off, citing the need for a nap. No one else will engage, too busy fishing or playing or doing other peaceful, relaxed things on this peaceful, relaxed afternoon. 

Hyrule is seated on a sun-warmed patch of grass just on the edge of the sand, going through the contents of his many pouches. He’s stationary. Good enough. Legend stalks up and flops down beside him, resting his head on Hyrule’s leg. Ignoring Hyrule’s startled “Legend?” he tucks his arms up beneath himself, turning his face down into the patched fabric of Hyrule’s trousers. A hand touches his hair. He says nothing. Hyrule hums to himself. He strokes Legend’s bangs away from his face before returning to his inventory. His clothes brush against Legend’s ear as he works, an aimless tune humming through the air above Legend’s head. Legend listens to that, rather than the waves, and his pounding heart begins to slow.

Someone pokes at him. Not Hyrule. Legend grumbles, refusing to open his eyes. 

“Leave him alone.” Hyrule’s voice is mild as the little song he was just singing. 

“You’re no fun.” Wind’s footsteps patter away.

Legend stirs himself enough to mutter into Hyrule’s leg. “I can defend myself.” 

“Hm.” Hyrule swipes the hat off of his head. 

“Hey!” A brief rush of wind and fabric tell him Hyrule dropped his hat near Legend’s face. Hyrule’s hand buries itself in his hair, scratching lightly at the back of his head. 

“Everything all right?”

“Sure.”

Hyrule tweaks the end of his ear.

“I can go somewhere else,” Legend threatens. He gathers his arms, starting to push up. Hyrule only laughs at him. His hand stays in Legend’s hair. Legend settles back down, arms folded up and hands tucked against his chest. 

“Want to try again?” Hyrule’s voice takes on that special blend of gentle and tart that it gains when he’s dead serious but trying to be nice about it.

“I’m _fine.”_

“You’re not out of your joint potion or pain cream again.”

“No.”

Hyrule’s hands stray from his hair to his neck and shoulders, kneading tense muscles. His fingers are warm. Almost unnaturally so. Legend rolls his head until he can see Hyrule’s face hovering above him. 

“Knock it off. Save your magic, I don’t need that.”

“I’ll decide what to do with my magic.” Hyrule’s words are cheerful, but his eyes are set and serious. 

“...You better not wear yourself out.”

Having said his piece, Legend turns his face back into Hyrule’s leg. Warm static follows the path of Hyrule’s hands. Up and down, from the base of his skull to his neck to the space between his shoulders and back again. It seeps into his bones, soothing aches he’d long stopped feeling. 

A sudden burning prickles at his eyes. Legend’s breath hitches. Bewilderment follows the initial rush of humiliation. Why this? Why now? There’s absolutely nothing going on. Nothing at all to be crying about. He rolls so his face is tucked against Hyrule’s torso, dislodging Hyrule’s hands, curls up. Sand scrapes against his legs. 

Hyrule sighs. It’s full of understanding. Legend wishes he could say the same of himself. Light pressure returns to the back of his head. “Legend?” Legend shakes his head as best he can without removing his face from the safety of Hyrule’s hip. All his biting words dry up, wither and die in his throat. “All right.”

Cloth drapes over his legs, heavy and warm. Shit, they have an audience. Fuck. He slides his eyes open, tips his chin down. Black cloak. Wild. 

Wild sits at Hyrule’s back, worms his fingers into the tight ball Legend has made of his own. “Gimme your hand, you jerk.” Legend lets him pry one of his hands loose. Wild takes it between both of his own, kneading it. No magic follows in the wake of his touch, but he works over the joints with skill and just enough pressure. He isn’t wearing gloves. Legend can feel the difference in texture between scarred and unscarred skin, callouses from sword and bow. Arthritic pain ebbs ever so slightly under Wild’s expertise, the soothing warmth of Hyrule’s magic. Legend shivers. He feels unmoored. Not sure what he was looking for, and even less certain now that it appears he’s found it.

Legend stirs a little when Wild starts plucking the rings from his fingers. The air pressure changes as Hyrule’s arm passes over his face. The rings make a light metallic noise as they drop from Wild’s hand to Hyrule’s. “I’m putting them in your hat,” Hyrule tells him. Oh. That’s all right, then. Wild and Hyrule start up a conversation about something inconsequential. Legend listens without hearing. The sound of the ocean fades to the innocent white noise it should be, taking the cruel words with it. Legend’s mind is quiet. 


End file.
